Feeling and Yelling
by SyndroMantic
Summary: The story of a new wild mutant


Chapter 1

Feeling and Yelling

(provisional title)

There is a feeling that nobody knows. A mix of serenity, of liberty, and of happiness. As if for once in daytime, the world were harmonic. Anyway, it's a harmonic feeling that I feel, when I walk at night, under the moon and the stars. It's a moment during which I have nothing to do, nothing but sleep and prepare to my diurnal job. Some people, them, work at night, or celebrate now to forget their job. I'm obliged to neither of both. If I go walking at this hours, it's only because of this feeling. It's hard to describe it, hard to apprehend it. It's a feeling that surprises me every night. I'm always unprepared, when it comes to me. As if the day made me forget it. Every time I feel it, I think I find something again. It seems that I rediscover a part of myself. A part of my life. I'm sure I was born during one of this moments. This is obliged. I am a son of the night.

My roots are in this nocturnal sky. What links me to the world, this earth, this town, this forest, this time. Here is where I have all my marks. Everything is in its place, and I am in mine. The images are sweet, the humanity shuts up, the air is pure. Midnight in a perfect world. I have never seen anything more lovely. I have never felt anything more intense. At night, nothing seems to be able to collapse. Not even my mask. Things are dark, here, dark in my head, dark in my heart. Things are so dark around me. In darkness, there is no dirt. Black T-shirts are always clean. That's why I wear only them. Night is pure. Its feeling is pure. Its inhabitants are pure. Its light is pure. Because, tonight as every night, the moon is in her place two.

Watchful, she takes care of our good or bad behaviour. White like an eye, she sees everything, so much more than men dare to. But above all, above clouds, with all she sees, she understands us, she knows us all. And by her light, she forgives us. I love you, thanks, moon. You who gave me a life, and then gave me a second one. My life would be a crumb of life, if I hadn't ever met you. You are so beautiful... Sometimes I can hardly look at her, while she always does. Wherever I am, she sees my shape. She sees my crooked back, my shuddering hands, she sees my shadow. She hears my breath hurrying. And maybe she knows how strongly my heart is beating, tonight. I don't know what to say any more. It's impossible. This feeling has no word. This feeling has no name. Instead, it has something else.

This is a yelling.

I pity, we should all pity those ones who never heard it. Musicians, them, should make an album with. One minute and a half for each song. Many people listen to lullabies to fall asleep. A music should be invented to awake as well. Awake as this yell sometimes awakes peoples in their darkened bedroom. As it awakes tramps leaved in the street. As it awakes nightmares in children's sleep. And who knows, maybe one day, at night, awake what it awakes in me for many years.

Rushing heart. Iced shivers. Uncontrolled reflexes. What banal first symptoms, aren't they ? I had never thought it could begin so ordinarily, before. I would have liked to know that it could ever begin. That things like this really existed. Not like those wizards or film-makers who just cheat. But truly. With all the pains and tickles and sensations, automatic, cold, scared, appearing when magic intervenes, or however it must be called. There is absolutely no cheat in the distortion I suffer, the giddiness I undergo. Every cheater knows how he makes his illusions. If I was one of them, I should be able to understand what happens to my body, at night. With which mystery my skeleton and my flesh achieve to change into this incredible skin. How my jaw grows up and elongates forward, making my mouth larger and my teeth longer. By which way my legs and my arms twist and unravel before forcing me to fall on four feet. And why during this time my clear skin and my black coat had turn into a so dark and bad furring. But as true as I am not intelligent enough to make illusions, I have no more brain either then to ask myself those questions. In this moment, I can't even realise that I have become a wolf.

Such a beast doesn't need to know how it arrived where it is. It always knows where it goes from here. There is no question for this, because all answers have already been learned. So learned that they are now instinctive. No need to name a tar road to recognize its smell five hundred meters farer. No more need to like cars to identify thereat an Aston Martin's sound. No need to ponder at all. The only thing to do is to let my heart dominate, and to fully enjoy this extraordinary feeling that now my new senses enable me to fully seize. The yelling has been exchanged with unceasing growls. And all grasses, leaves and bushes I can see reflect the white moon's colour. She entirely rules the night and I've got eyes just for her light.

The pure feelings mix, all together, and it's the same with the images. Mostly with the images. I see smears and vortexes everywhere I look to, and I run, I run in this great maze, hoping it could ever become mine. However, I know that I already can't get lost in, wherever I be. I smell that. I know my way. My heart knows it. I can't get lost. I know where I run to. All wolves run to this place. The moon shows me the way. She speaks to me, with her divine and dangerous voice. She persuades me to chase something. Or sometimes to chase anything. So I run. This is the most exciting activity I am able to do. Much better than sex or video games. I would love to do this all day long. I would like to possess enough force to run in every country, in every night. I would like to see and to smell everything. To live every natural life.

What's surprising is that, at this moment, I can't imagine as well that it could ever finish. Actually, I have totally forgotten that time ran two. Yesterday isn't yet, tomorrow is already damned. This night is all I think I have, and nothing matters but this hour. In the end, for me, there is nothing else than death. And this is precisely why, suddenly, I feel how old the forest is, and ask myself how many wolf-men it has seen until now. This is where I run. I race through the wolves' sanctuary. I am where I have to be. As usually, I didn't miss the call. For once in daytime, I am present to the life. No matter how long it is going to be. Universal things have no price, as well as trees have no age.

No rules either. During the night, I am totally free. Me against the immortal and frozen forest. Nothing can break the balance, the harmony of the world. The moon is high in the sky and nothing, either, can appease my heart. Life is beating inside me. And so I have to share it with whatever I can. Everybody and everything must awake, now, because I can't stand being alone. Wake up, nocturnal spirits. Come on, natural souls. Feel this night. Feel these claws and these fangs. Feel me, I am being the king of the forest. All those woods are my territory. My playground. The funniest map of all games.

This is really an incredible feeling. I can do, at this moment, everything I want. And so much wishes are achieved at any second that completely new ones appear then. It's like a wild hunger which devours me itself, and takes me out of control for good. I can't escape it. But even if I could, why would I try to ? A wolf is nothing but a wolf. Instinct is all my need. And forestry creatures are all my preys. I could even say that I personally hate them. Those rabbits, those birds, vagrants... They don't deserve to escape me at all. I run so fast. They act too vulnerably. I can't avoid to put my claws into their flesh. The moon, her, makes their blood spotless. I love it. Sincerely.

Violence is, after all, probably the purest thing that the night has. Nothing else can purge as much as the obedience to this extremely primary reflex. Of course, killing is a very dirty action, and even magic can't clean the blood on my coat or my pants when I become a human again. But this is something else that violence purifies in me. I am talking about morale. These nights spent in cruelty and bestiality are, for me, like a rebirth. I am like a child, I have too much energy to evacuate. That's why I have all rights, an so much the worse for guilt and crime.

Am I a monster ? Many old legends said so. Yes, I think it can be. Best stories have always been made of monsters of all kinds. So I must be one of them to want to tell you my story, to think it deserves that. Or maybe it's because I feel too alone. Who knows ? Things are too much dark, at night. Is it the moon who inspires me that ? The fear of darkness ? The fear of oblivion ? The fear of death ? Why not the fear of you ? The day you'll catch me still can happen. The day I'll come to devour you two. And however, you don't seem to fear me yet. You don't even think that I really exist. Well. Let's let it begin.


End file.
